


Assembly

by Erithacus (Esslyn)



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9988538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esslyn/pseuds/Erithacus
Summary: Reed suffers terrible consequences as he is personally caught up in the closing stages of a war.





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone who read any of my previous stories. Apologies all my tab settings have evaporated in posting. A non-explicit version will go on fanfiction.net.

PART ONE

Prologue

Gazing out at the vast stillness of space outside his porthole and the stately mass of planet floating beneath the ship, Archer squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, trying in vain to derail his imagination. The black ink of space had become a canvas painted with gory scenes of destruction and mangled bodies from the report in front of him. The recent Poyarni – Taskebrion peace had come just too late for victims at Balgradinya.  
The latest report from the government said it was now believed that a double-agent had enabled the Taskebrians to obtain the secret location of the largest Poyarni refugee camp. In one of their final acts in this war; they had bombed it mercilessly. The final death toll was unspecified as yet; the camp having been established and populated so hastily that no complete count had ever been made. The media were estimating it to be in the thousands.  
He felt huge sympathy for the grief the Poyarni must be feeling and hoped that the medical supplies the Enterprise was bringing might be a small step on the road to healing some of the damage.  
Rousing himself, he fussed Porthos, patting the dog's head before heading to the shuttlebay for his journey to a medical centre on the planet, to be reunited with the Enterprise's missing officer.  


Chapter 1

They were met directly by a middle-aged Poyarni female who introduced herself as Doctor Casiliev. Happily the building they were in seemed sturdier from the inside than Trip had first judged it from the air as they landed. The huge red cross on the white roof had been an instant reminder that not all planets enjoyed the same peace as others. After briefly exchanging the usual pleasantries on the way to her office, the doctor came straight to the point.  
“First of all, considering what he's been through, his mental condition is remarkably good. He's alert, asking questions about his treatment and talking to staff. He's been able to tell us about some of his experiences, although we haven't pressed him at all to-”  
She stopped mid-sentence with a quizzical frown. Something in the matched pair of puzzled expressions she was facing broke her flow. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”  
“Ah we didn't think he'd been – that is we weren't given the impression he'd been through a particularly difficult imprisonment.” the elder of the two men replied.  
For a moment she wondered just how this species was used to treating their captives, then realised what the alien was, she presumed, more likely to mean.  
“Oh,” she drawled slowly, wondering how they would react to her shocking news. There was only one way to find out and she explained as gently as she could.  
“Your officer was captured by the Taskebrians, his species differentiated him and I'm afraid in these terrible, paranoid times, they would simply assume him to be a Poyarni agent. They transported him straight to Lubystiyana prison complex, which is also the headquarters of their intelligence services. He was interrogated there. This included the use of torture.''  
She continued over a horrified gasp and exclamation. "I'm afraid the Taskebrian agents are brutal, and they must have been extremely desperate for intelligence at this late stage. They've killed hundreds of suspected spies and alleged traitors each year since the war began. We don't have all the facts yet,but it does just seem that your Lieutenant was simply included for release, at their choice, with a regular, scheduled, prisoner exchange group.  
We don't know why they release a few prisoners but kill others. He could have simply been lucky, or it may have been that they heard the Enterprise was returning and they wanted to avoid becoming your target and drawing you into the conflict, or maybe they did it just to frighten you. We don't know for sure.  
There were some medics at the release point and they brought him to us as we represent the most advanced medical help in this particular battle area and his condition was serious. They managed to get him to us within a day of his release.  
She gave them a moment but they seemed too shocked to have any questions yet.  
"Malcolm is badly injured, but he's alive and we're doing everything our resources allow for him.”  
"Thank you Doctor," managed the senior alien huskily." We didn't dream anything like that could happen." He stopped again. The fair-haired Human, who's face was slowly regaining it's original colour after having turned nearly paler than his hair, jumped in.  
"How bad is it Doc? Is he gonna make it?”  
"I sincerely hope so, and I believe so." She tried to reassure them. Taking a moment to sip her drink, she consulted a medical chart on the device in front of her.  
"When he was brought in he was in a state of severe shock and very weak. We were able to transfuse blood and stabilise him. Happily your species' physiology is in our database, although not in great detail. He has regained consciousness although he is clearly distressed and in a great deal of pain.  
He has severe burns to his left hand and arm and fluid collecting in his lungs, I believe you refer to this as pneumonia. He's been starved for some time, generally abused and beaten and there are some foreign chemicals in his bloodstream. We're working to analyse what they are and what effect they might have had.  
“Oh hell,” whispered the younger human.  
“I'm so sorry,” she responded helplessly. “He's lucky to be alive, quite frankly, but I'm sure that is down to his own toughness. I'm sure he won't stop fighting having made it this far.”  
To distract their attention for a brief moment from dwelling on these fearful facts she asked if their own doctor could be sent for immediately, which Trip set about ordering. To the Captain she addressed a question about the donation of medical supplies.”  
“Oh yes. Our doctor's name is Phlox and he's packed several tonnes of supplies in the shuttle, your orderlies are unloading as we speak. I'm sure he'll be happy to assist translating any pharmacology and usage guidance for you.”  
“Oh that's wonderful!” She was so relieved she closed her eyes, tilting her head to the sky for a moment with a sigh.  
“We rely on voluntary donations as a charitable medical organisation but they never seem to arrive before we've exhausted the last shipment.” She paused before plunging on.  
“Since your officer regained consciousness three days ago, I'm afraid we've only had very limited doses of painkillers left – and this morning we ran out entirely.” Her fingers tightened in frustration on her cup.  
Archer knew that they were lucky to have stumbled on this oasis of unpaid volunteers doing their utmost to bring humanitarian aid in terrible circumstances and instinctively reached out to clasp her hand to reassure her.  
“Malcolm owes his life to you and your brave personnel, I know you've done all you can to help and we're very, very grateful for all your efforts.” His sincerity garnered a lifting of her chin and a tired smile.  
“Let me go and put your supplies to work and I will let you know as soon as you can see him. Please make yourselves comfortable and I'll be back shortly.”  
Left to their own thoughts, predictably Trip wasn’t slow to voice his feelings.  
“Oh Lord. Poor Malcolm.”

Chapter 2

Silently guided to the ward by Dr Casiliev, they were not allowed to disturb their sleeping crew-mate. A still figure connected to various machines was all they could see, with one arm fully encased in a protective sheath and bruises everywhere that bandages weren't.  
Phlox arrived a few hours later with the next shuttle and they awaited the OK to take him to Enterprise. Phlox decided against moving the Lieutenant while asleep, weighing the potential stress of waking up without warning in a different location against the limitations of the makeshift hospital.  
T'Pol travelled down with Phlox to allow Archer to rejoin the high-profile and critical diplomatic negotiations on board the Enterprise. The Lieutenant was sleeping when she was permitted to enter and sit at his bedside. His rest was far from peaceful; small movements of his head and the uneven sound of his laboured breathing told their own story.  
She wasn't surprised a few minutes when later his eyes flew open and he began to cough. Raising the head of the bed to a higher position helped to ease his congested lungs enough that he was able to slow his breathing until the coughing subsided.  
He lay back with his eyes closed, recovering his breath. Close up she was alarmed at the livid bruises all over his face what she could see of his body in all the angriest shades of purple, yellow-green and black. His left arm was invisible beneath its cushioned restraint, his right also heavily bandaged. The wrist, she heard from Phlox, was cut to the bone in places. The rest of him was covered by a rag-tag assortment of blankets. Despite these, and the warmth of the room, he was shivering.  
Returning her gaze to his face she nonetheless saw a light sheen of perspiration on his brow. Gently placing a cool damp cloth on his brow he started slightly and reopened his eyes to look at her. Drowsily he murmured her name.  
"Yes Malcolm. You're safe. You're at a local Poyarni hospital. Please try to go back to sleep. We hope to move you to Enterprise tomorrow if Dr Phlox gives permission so you would be well served to rest before the journey.”  
He nodded, eyes closing tiredly anyway. She caught a whispered “Yes sir" and a faint smile ghosted across his lips for a split second.  
T'Pol stayed put, going through her routine administrative tasks. Reed awoke several more times. Although he hissed in pain as he shifted position, he didn't open his eyes or speak. She realised he must be at a considerable level of discomfort. He was clutching at his head with his good hand particularly often, which puzzled her as the doctor had detected only a mild concussion. It was the one place his injuries were not as severe as they could have been.  
The next dose of painkiller from Phlox was administered while he slept. Within minutes, lines smoothed from his forehead, his breathing slowed and deepened. She felt herself relax a little more as well.  


Chapter 3

The transfer to Enterprise was accomplished smoothly the next day. T'Pol passed on grateful thanks from the crew to the Poyarni base medical staff.  
T'Pol was intrigued to observe the reactions of the human crew to news of Lt Reed's ordeal. Conversations were full of sympathy and there was a general atmosphere of support throughout the ship as the lieutenant was installed in an enclosed cubicle in sickbay.  
Crew members stopped by with gifts of Earth delicacies and the armoury staff left a sincere message of pride and support for their chief as well as a practical bag of fresh clothes and some books from his quarters.  
Lieutenant Reed was not permitted to receive these visitors although he listened gratefully as she read out the messages. He was feverish, his body fighting infections. Even Phlox's strongest painkillers weren't enough to overcome all of the pain his injuries caused, especially his left arm.  
T'Pol found herself spending much of her off duty time with the Lieutenant. In conversation with Doctor Phlox she learned that Reed was malnourished, 'starved' as the Denobulan put it, and weak from shock and chronic pain. Phlox was pleased his treatment was making rapid progress healing the Lieutenant's severe burns but was still concerned with the overall progress his patient was making, particularly a severe headache, the cause of which he was struggling to find.  
“He still has a long way to come,” he confided in her, as they observed Reed in a pain-filled sleep. “His condition is somewhat worse than it appears, but he's putting a very brave face on it. I haven't pushed him to talk about what's happened, but when he's asleep he keeps repeating some names: 'Balgradinya' it sounds like and 'Maria'. He's told me about how he received some of these injuries – I wonder if there's something more to this which might explain this impression I have that he's, perhaps unconsciously, hiding something.”  
“Is there anything more we can do?”  
“Other than just wait and keep him reassured and comfortable, I can't think of anything. Once his physical injuries are on the mend, it may be easier to talk to him and gauge his state of mind.”

 

A few days later, although his physical condition had improved, Reed seemed to her, for the first time, to be in noticeably low spirits. Over the course of her visits she had observed his bruises healing and that he was moving more easily. Unable to find a specific reason, she put it down as a natural low following the stress of his interrogations and treatment and did her best to overcome it, providing 'small talk' to engage Malcolm with the present and to take his mind off his situation.  
Recognising her efforts, Malcolm rallied a little and weakly asked if she would join him for breakfast. From his wry smile she realised he was referring to the injuries which still prevented him from dealing with any dish that required two hands.  
Encouraged to find his sense of humour seemingly resurfacing, she collected Malcolm's assigned meal, selected food for herself and assisted him where necessary, although she was concerned to observe that, despite his malnourished condition, he mustered little appetite.

Over the next few days his health continued to improve and he was allowed to leave his bed for periods. A few times she thought he was reading but instead found him with head in his unbandaged hand, teeth clenched in pain, massaging his temple repeatedly. At these times he was particularly dazed and distant and she usually just coaxed him to lie down and rest. He did start to open up with Phlox about some of the traumatic experiences that he remembered although, he said, there were large gaps in his memories. Or things he was not willing to reveal, T'Pol guessed. Glances he cast around sickbay and what she felt was a guardedness or a lack of natural curiosity reinforced a sense that he felt he was not yet 'home', as if he was waiting for something. 

At the next trading post a delegation from Poyarn awaited the Enterprise with news.  


Chapter 4

Lengthening her stride T'Pol hurried towards Sickbay where the sounds of raised voices even escaped the closed doors. She found Archer and a Human stranger in a Starfleet diplomatic corps uniform confronting a wary Lt Reed. She was a little concerned that he was standing slightly side-on, deliberately keeping his bad arm in its sling turned away. Hard-trained fighting instincts to protect a weak spot coming to the fore. But this surely wasn't the time for him to be feeling attacked.  
“How could you disobey my order?” Archer asked forcefully, gazing with disbelief at his Armoury Officer. Reed took a couple of tense, shallow breaths before answering, “I did what I felt was right at the time.”  
“You did what?” he stared incredulously at his by-the-book, proper, subordinate. “Look I know we never expected you to be captured and hurt, I know it must have been hell for you but surely you understood that their lives had to come first! I would have expected you to use this story despite the circumstances.”  
Reed's eyes flicked to the stranger, who was hanging back, then to Archer . “The plan was I went there to plant some disinformation with the Taskebrians to delay their next attack and give the peacemakers on their side time to work. But something happened, I … I can't remember what, but. . . I know that it wasn't going to work, it wasn't going to be enough, it wasn't going to convince them.” He paused, shaking his head.  
“There was a reason I couldn't use it. I had to make a different choice. I made the only choice I could live with to-” Archer brutally cut him off. “Precisely. You realised once they'd got all they could out of you they'd probably kill you, so you made a cowardly choice and it got these innocent refugees killed!” He threw a printed news clipping onto Reed's bed. The black and white headline screamed: Balgradinya Refugee Camp Bombed.  
“No!” Reed recoiled as if struck and paled further. To T'Pol it seemed as though his visage had turned to stone. Clearly he had not heard this news. Picking up the paper, he stared from Archer to the article. A frost in his eyes disguising all but a hint of the internal fight between fear, guilt and anger. Holding the flimsy in shaking hands, with decision and determination his chin lifted.  
“You're wrong Captain,” he said quietly. “It would have been much easier to comply.” He turned his back, seemingly talking to himself now. “Much easier,” he whispered and limped away.  
“Lieutenant!” Archer was furious. “Lieutenant!”  
Reed gave no sign he even heard. Archer turned to Phlox, who was clearly equally angry, but with different cause.  
“See that Lt Reed remains confined to sickbay and have him presented for a full debriefing at oh nine hundred tomorrow. We will see just what he can and cannot remember,” he ordered.  
“If he is fit to do so Captain, I will. In the meantime I regret I must forbid you from returning to sickbay as your behaviour is interfering with my patient's well-being and my duties. Is that understood?”  
Archer had the grace to look abashed and responded curtly. “Yes Doctor. Perfectly.” He turned on his heel and walked out.  
The stranger who hadn't spoken during the scene did not follow, but took his hands out of his pockets and wandered over to Lt Reed. T'Pol didn't try to overhear the conversation which lasted several minutes. The unknown Starfleet official even clasped Reed's wrist gently as he was taking his leave. But T'Pol thought Reed's final shrug of his shoulders signalled dejection and resignation despite the stranger's reassurance.  
Phlox wore a grimace at the proceedings and when the man had left, hurried to where Malcolm was now sitting quietly, lost in thought. T'Pol joined them slowly allowing time for a signal if privacy was required.  
“I do apologise Lieutenant,” the Denobulan was saying. “I did not expect Captain Archer to be so angry and thoughtless.” Strong words from the mild-mannered physician.  
“I wasn't expecting it either but I'm okay.” Phlox was fussing over readings and she was sure he'd observed the pallor and tension in the young man that gave the lie to his statement.  
“You appear to have survived intact it's true.” Phlox replied at last, with a twinkle in his eye – referring to the fearsomeness of Archer's rarely seen fury. Reed met his eyes and gave a ghost of a chuckle. As Phlox departed his shoulders were noticeably lower and his breathing steadier.  
He turned to her, with a raised eyebrow. Mirroring this expression, she was rewarded with a stronger smile, although she felt at the sight of her, some subtle tension had returned.  
“Lieutenant, would you prefer to be alone?”  
“Nah.” She felt he'd been about to say more but his expression had become guarded once more, and she felt him watching her carefully.  
“I do not understand the Captain's position,” she stated, guessing that Lt Reed's reserve might be defensive until he decided who's side she was on. Or until she decided.  
Staring at her expressionlessly, he ignored the implicit question and instead asked neutrally, “Will you be at this debriefing tomorrow?”  
“My attendance has not been requested.”  
“And,” he paused, “if I requested. Would you attend?”  
“Yes.”  
He looked at her searchingly, clearly far from any hint of humour now. Reaching some private decision, he held his breath a moment, then exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he said slowly and clearly.  
“Captain Archer believes that I have condemned thousands of Poyarni to death because I didn't reveal certain carefully prepared disinformation to the Taskebrians. That is true, I didn't follow that plan. Or rather I tried but it wasn't going to work . . they had sources . . . they knew . . they had . . . .” he halted, swallowing hard as he was unable to continue. Biting his lip he steeled himself to push aside the bloody memories crowding in.  
“The plan was impossible. I tried but I couldn't follow the plan, they didn't fall for it.” He dropped his gaze suddenly to stare at his bandages, afraid to see her reaction, adding as an afterthought. “I can't remember how, but they knew I was lying. They knew." His tone conveyed his absolute conviction.  
Considering his statement objectively, she could understand that under torture it might be hard if not impossible to convince an experienced interrogator of a deception. It was generally accepted in Starfleet that officers could only be expected to do their best under torture, and it was unspoken but quietly known that the majority would break. Reed, she surmised, had clearly tried to resist but failed.  
If they had known that he would be captured and treated as a spy she was sure they would have come up with a different strategy. But he had been sent to a city well inside Poyarni lines. The assessed mission risks had not indicated that he would be unreasonably vulnerable or exposed. But both sides had their spies, perhaps their plan had been leaked, enabling the Lieutenant to be ambushed.  
But she could see Archer's position. No doubt also emotionally swayed by news of reprisals on Poyarn, news that, from the rigid mask Reed was wearing, she was sure he had been allowed to discover. If Archer was feeling guilty about the Enterprise's impact on the planet's conflict, he was, perhaps unconsciously, deflecting any implicit blame from Starfleet's approach. But this seemed to be allowing all of it to fall on Malcolm. In due course she was positive the Captain would see that this was unreasonable and apologise.  
The 'debriefing' at present though, took on a less neutral aspect and she realised Reed must effectively be asking if she would be a support or an advocate for him. She felt, as he must, the weight of all the emotional humans around them. How many would see past the violent, bloody, events of the war now being reported, and even listen to the facts?  
“Lieutenant, I understand you made what seems to be a logical decision which perhaps few humans would have had the courage and presence of mind to make in the same circumstances. I will inform Captain Archer that I will accompany you tomorrow morning. I am sure that reason will prevail and I will see that you are not unsupported until it does so.”  
For a moment he lost control and his face showed some deeper emotions. “Thank you.”  
As he composed himself, she reflected that bearing the weight of such a decision alone in addition to the intensely stressful situation he'd been through, it was astonishing that he had not yet shown much emotion. Pain, yes, but excepting nightmares, he'd stayed disturbingly calm, even subdued. A disquieting thought, given typical Human nature. Although the Lieutenant by character did not ordinarily show much overt emotion, nevertheless, the strain of these events probably could not be ignored much longer, certainly not without consequences to his health, mental if not physical.  
“Malcolm,” she hoped use of his first name would signal a more personal approach than merely advice from a senior officer, “if at any time there are emotions or events you wish to discuss, in confidence, do please feel free to 'bend my ear'.”  
“I think it's been bent already!” he responded unexpectedly. “Sorry. Sorry.” a hint of genuine mirth lightened his haunted expression. Relieved that he'd taken her bait, T'Pol also allowed a smile of pleasure. Her understanding of the Human use of humour was improving all the time.  
Malcolm was the most reserved of all the bridge crew and his dry sense of humour was, to her, the most tolerable. Pleasingly he also seemed comfortable with her, not exaggeratedly treating her like an alien, but neither requiring nor expecting her to react like a Human. Unlike many of the crew, she had never detected the slightest hint of reproach that she did not show expected emotions to Human levels. He seemed to understand her intentions without needing her to use outward emotions to show their strength. Something the rest of the crew struggled with, particularly at the most violent of situations.  
Beyond respect, she was also developing a liking for him that went beyond any of the other friendships she had formed on board. His confidence in her and the resilience he was displaying to try to engage with her despite traumatic experiences, only increased her respect for his bravery and fortitude.  
Thinking of this reminded of her of one piece of very unpleasant news she had yet to impart. Feeling reluctant now to spoil his mood, she was too late. His alert eyes had caught something in her usually impassive countenance. All the warmth that had fleetingly lit his face, drained from his expression in a flash and he braced himself for more bad news.  
“What is it T'Pol?” he asked flatly.  
“I came to sickbay to report to the Captain that the Taskebrians have sent us an advance copy of their audio-visual recording of your questioning and torture.” She didn't avoid the word and heard an involuntary groan.  
“It will be screened as part of the debriefing tomorrow.” Reed's eyes widened and she reached forward to clasp the Lieutenant's shoulder. He had turned white so fast she though he would faint. Swaying with shock he lowered his head towards his knees. Harsh panting gave way to a stream of near soundless whispering “No no no no no.”  
He fought for a long while to bring his breathing under control and to conceal the pure fear that had shot through him. Eventually he succeeded. T'Pol sensed he was straining every power he possessed to maintain his emotional control, but the leash was worn and fraying. There was a distinct tension in his body and demeanour that she did not quite understand but looking at his face, she decided dread was the closest classification. It seemed that Enterprise was not yet a safe haven for him. Or, and she found herself hating the thought, was he afraid that the video would betray something in particular?

 

Chapter 5

The next morning T'Pol arrived early and chatted to Phlox whilst a nurse helped Lt Reed to dress. At his insistence, a Starfleet uniform jacket had been fetched from his quarters, which he wore, draped over the shoulder of the arm in its sling. His other clothing was neat, but not regulation.  
He rapidly abandoned an attempt to eat after only a few mouthfuls. As the nurse moved the dishes away he took a drink instead. Even from a few metres away she could plainly see that his hand shook badly. He stared at it, closed his eyes for a long moment and at the end of whatever ritual was performed, the tremors had diminished. Shaking his head slightly he rose and came over to join them, limping heavily.

“How are you feeling Lieutenant?” she asked after greeting him. “I do not think that you have eaten sufficiently.”  
“Don't you start,” he pleaded with a faint smile. “I can't face food right now. I hope you didn't have a big breakfast either – this isn't going to be pleasant.”  
“Malcolm, you know you will be utterly secure, no physical harm can come to you? And no one will take you away from Enterprise.”  
“Yes, I know,” his voice lacked all conviction. “But I can remember an awful lot of harm that's already happened to me though. Including some I've probably managed to forget.  
And some that happened to others,” he added as an afterthought too quietly to hear. He shivered, but squared his shoulders imperceptibly and motioned towards the doors.

They were seated in the briefing room; T'Pol, Reed and Phlox facing Archer, a Poyarni civil servant recording proceedings and the stranger from sickbay who was now introduced as a Starfleet intelligence functionary. He would be chairing the debriefing and appeared sympathetic when introduced to them.  
Malcolm immediately poured himself a full glass of water, but did not drink. She knew he'd done it now rather than later because his hands might be trembling too badly. As Phlox had requested, the room was warmer than usual for his patient's comfort. The Doctor himself took a seat a little behind them where he could monitor his patient less obtrusively.  
After introductions the attaché, a Commander Alec Faulkner, eased into things by reading Reed's initial statement and then asking gentle questions to flesh out all he could remember about the circumstances of his capture. Malcolm stated that at no time was he told or aware that the interrogation was being recorded.  
Archer sat quietly and soon any taint of confrontation seemed to wear away. Malcolm had clearly warmed to Faulkner who seemed to know what he was about; not dwelling on details if Malcolm said he didn't remember, but missing nothing either. It felt as if only the two of them were in the room, the atmosphere was as close to relaxed as it could get.  
She observed Malcolm exchange brief eye contact with the diplomat as they came to the first section of recorded events. The debriefing being so far conducted in chronological order of events. Something seemed to pass between them. Malcolm leant back slightly, and as his eyes turned to the viewscreen, he leant casually over to her and whispered, “I think he's been through something similar.” Then he sat upright again as the images on-screen began moving.

The view was clearly from a fixed security camera point. Authenticity and integrity had been confirmed. The recordings were high quality. Automated cameras, they were told, recorded continuously so that no scrap of information escaped attention. The footage selected followed one prisoner in Starfleet uniform, bound and blindfolded, being led into a small and completely bare room.  
The captive stood in the middle of the cell. Three more Taskebrians in uniform filed in carrying thin batons. Without ceremony questions were fired in from all sides at random.  
“What is your name?”  
“Malcolm Reed.”  
“Your designation?”  
“Lieutenant. Serial number 2135628.”  
“At which sites do the Poyarn store their particle bombs?”  
“I don't know what you're talki-” With an unpleasant whistle a stick struck Reed in the stomach. He doubled over with a sharp gasp. After a few moments he was able to straighten. The questions resumed.  
“Why were you sent here to spy?”  
“I am not a spy.” Another strike, same spot. This time a longer pause before he could breathe again. Questions again.  
“What are your ship's shield harmonic frequencies?”  
“ I cannot answer that que-”  
Each time he refused to answer; a blow. Each time an answer they didn't believe; a blow.  
Faulkner hit fast-forward and the index jumped forward 20 minutes. The picture steadied as a baton swung a blow that saw the prisoner's knees finally buckle. Again a pause.  
“What target will the Poyarni attack next?” No reply now from the kneeling figure. This time Reed, anticipating, managed to turn his shoulder to a swinging stick aimed for his neck, he grunted with pain. The next blow caught him squarely on the head. He pitched forward, bleeding. There were no more questions.  
One of the interrogators approached, stooped and roughly ripped off the blindfold.  
“You stupid Earth scum.” he spat with hatred. “Don't you realise how slowly we can kill you?” The camera feed switched to follow as Reed was dragged to another room, the door locked and he did not move.  
Faulkner clicked off the picture.  
“Pretty self-explanatory. Is there anything you want to add at this point Lieutenant?”  
“I believe Dr Casiliev at the medical station took still images of my injuries when I was brought in. If you would like them added to the record for completeness I'm sure she'd be happy to transmit them.” His voice was low but steady.  
Faulkner nodded and made a note. “Thank you Lieutenant. We'll take a break here and continue in 40 minutes if that's okay with you?”  
Malcolm nodded, rose without looking at anything or anyone in particular and made his way back to Sickbay.

Over the short lunch break, T'Pol and Phlox, sensitive to Malcolm's protectively withdrawn state did not talk much. He managed to eat a banana and at Phlox's suggestion a chocolate bar, but refused anything else. 

When they resumed, Faulkner had set the tape three hours forward. Reed was waking up, slow stiff movements and hissed snatches of breath made Archer shift uncomfortably.  
On the screen, despite the pain, the Armoury officer forced himself to his feet and walked the perimeter of his cell, methodically examining every inch of the plain walls before sitting, back to the wall, head bowed. The image paused.  
“How bad was it at that stage?”  
Malcolm seemed to know what he was asking. “Bad enough. It was a shock, I mean I wasn't expecting that kind of treatment for sure. Nothing was broken, my head really hurt, so did my shoulder, the rest was just bruises.” He paused, thinking back.  
“I was trying to work out what the hell they thought I knew and who the hell they thought I was. They seemed to be asking random questions. I had no idea what they were on about half the time. I knew the more crucial the data they were actually after, the harder they'd probably try to get it.”  
Before restarting the playback, Faulkner said quietly. “If you need us to stop at any point Lieutenant, just say so, all right?” Reed met his eyes and nodded.

When they ended debriefing for the day, four hours and one further break later, they had reviewed extracts from almost 20 hours of horrific scenes. The Starfleet officer had at first been beaten further and spent hours being relentlessly questioned with little rest, by shifts of interrogators. They could see he grew more tired in each session. 

At the next day's session...

The playback showed the Starfleet prisoner being stripped of what, by then, remained of his bloodied uniform, before being dragged upright and strapped to a chair. He was then unceremoniously drenched with a bucket of icy water.  
T'Pol observed that Archer looked a little ill as he watched two Taskebrians circle around their prisoner. They each had a long stick shaped device which generated energy or electricity at the tip. They applied the charge repeatedly, touching the tip randomly to his skin, whenever Reed failed to answer a question.  
She heard Archer jerk and stifle a sound when Reed on-screen finally cried out as shocks were repeatedly applied between his legs. As the screen, even from it's distant viewpoint showed the shadow of muscles bunching with strain she switched her attention to Malcolm’s profile beside her. He was looking at the screen with a haunted expression and the knuckles of his good hand pressed hard to his mouth.  
When the prisoner on screen fainted, Faulkner paused for an immediate break. Reed disappeared and reappeared 10 minutes later with even paler skin and damp hair. Her sense of smell told her that he had vomited what little food he had been able to eat.

The recording showed a period of unconsciousness lasting about six hours. Water was available in a bottle in the cell but Faulkner confirmed no food was offered at any time.  
“Did the water taste normal?”  
“Yes, but I think even engine oil would have tasted drinkable to me by then.”  
“There was no medical attention?”  
“Not at that point. I think they tried some drugs at some point and some of them seemed to dull the pain a bit. But that was probably accidental.” he added drily.  
The Taskebrians certainly didn't seem to have tailored their chemical interventions particularly effectively to Human physiology. Malcolm showed no particular ill-effects after three different injections over the next eight hours, the scatter-gun questioning continued unchanged.  
Before the final period they reviewed that day, Malcolm turned suddenly to T'Pol, or rather turned away from the recording briefly, with an involuntary moan. He pressed a hand to his stomach for a moment and winced.  
“Are you all right Lieutenant?”  
He nodded, then almost immediately shook his head.  
“I remember . . .” he whispered.  
“Remember what?”  
He didn't answer but met her eyes with a look of heartbreaking dread.

 

Chapter 6

A group of four Poyarni prisoners; two small girls, a man and a women, clearly their mother and father, were brought into view. All were restrained by heavy shackles. The youngest was brought over to where Malcolm was now chained by the wrists to a metal ring embedded in the back wall. When he refused to answer a question a gun was pointed at her head. The next lack of answer and the gun was obviously armed or primed. Despite his injuries Malcolm strained to the limit of his chains. The girl was sobbing, her parents screaming and frantic, and Malcolm was trying to use what voice he had left to beg for her. The overall noise was pure desperation.  
Momentarily silencing the adults with hard slaps, they asked him again. “Where is the Poyarni resistance based?”  
The image of the prisoner looked the child in the eyes for an eternity. Malcolm, frozen in his chair, could barely breathe.  
“I. Cannot. Answer.” before the whispered sentence was complete, a deafening shot rang out, half her head was missing and her small body fell bonelessly to the floor.

 

The two adults were also shot in the same fashion. On-screen, Reed was clearly stunned. A spray of blood from a falling body had crossed his face as he strained and twisted uselessly at his chains until his own wrists were bleeding.  
The last child was pushed forward. She was blonde, the eldest, only about thirteen but old enough to be very afraid. Her socks were wet, a damp stain on her smock where she had pee'd. As the gun was pressed to her head Malcolm lost it briefly, his voice breaking with frustration and strain.  
“I don't know! Stop! Please! I don't know the answer!”  
Instead of a shot, the guards held a conversation. One of them laughed. The last child was pushed to the floor in front of the prisoner but just out of reach. A guard proceeded to bunch up her outerwear, unzip his trousers, guide his cock between her naked legs and stare at the helpless prisoner. When Reed turned away, he was slapped hard in the face, grabbed by the hair and wrenched closer. Forced to watch the Taskebrion cruelly thrusting into her in a rape that seemed to last forever. Finally, as the guard climaxed to the screams of the girl, he forced his pistol muzzle into her mouth and pulled the trigger.  
Reed pressed his chained hands over his eyes. Released from the hold, the prisoner bent his head to the floor, his body shaking. Later, after the interrogators had long gone without unchaining him, he uncurled and shuffled slowly and stiffly back to lean against the wall. An expression of resolve seemed to pass through his eyes as he stared at the bodies in the blood-bathed cell.

 

Faulkner again paused the playback. He turned to look at Malcolm but said nothing. Close up T'Pol could see he was trembling with reaction and looked distinctly nauseous. But he forced a few deep breaths and spoke very slowly and quietly.  
“I worked out just then, what they really wanted. It took me a while to believe it but looking at the bodies in front of me made it easier. I knew then, I had to, really had to say nothing. What I knew was too dangerous, would get so many more people killed. I didn't think I could get any more frightened but it's-” he stopped and started again. “When you know nothing, you can only say nothing, you have nothing to give away. It was a full on war, that family were casualties and there was nothing I could have done.” He looked up. “Nothing,” he repeated more firmly, directing this at Archer, who was also looking sick.  
“And there was nothing I could do. No matter how many people they killed or whatever they did to me. But….” he broke off and scrubbed a hand across his face.  
“I was frightened I wouldn't be strong enough to hold out.” he finished.  
Faulkner sighed and smiled grimly, “I suggest that you go and try to catch up on breakfast and lunch now and then get some sleep. I'm afraid we are required to continue tomorrow.”

 

Helping Malcolm back to sickbay, after he'd been checked over by Phlox, she tried to talk to him as he was eating, again nowhere near enough. But he just stared into space too tired to even tune in. He looked wretchedly sick, and she heard Phlox talking to someone in the background, insisting that tomorrow's session be limited to half a day at most.  
As Malcolm lay down, she decided to stay a few minutes in case he needed to talk. In the near-darkness, an outline of light around the curtain came over her shoulder, lighting only the glint of wetness in his eyes. She heard his breathing become strained and uneven and thought he might be breaking down, but exhaustion and painkillers overwhelmed him and within minutes the bio-readouts confirmed he'd passed out. 

 

Excerpts from the remainder of the video only were reviewed during the next half-day session. The Starfleet chairman had clearly understood the detrimental effect it was having and heeded Phlox's request, to the extent that he declared he had personally reviewed the remaining scenes and after this short session, would not require any further attendance from Lieutenant Reed. He would conduct a further interview if necessary later.  
However the harrowing section of footage which he did show was the interrogators using something like a blowtorch on Reed's left arm, at which point he became non-responsive and went into shock. Taskebrian army medics were shown treating him. Much later when he was returned to the torture cell, he quickly broke down – but at this point began to reveal the prearranged cover story. However the final footage from the next day also went on to show Reed admitting that this story was false, that he'd lied and made it up because he didn't know the answer and just wanted them to stop hurting him or kill him. 

 

T'Pol looked around the room at the faces, all showing variations of open-mouthed shock. All except Malcolm's, he was pale and sweaty it was true, but he was shaking his head in bewilderment.  
Quickly Commander Faulkner noted that this was the end of the supplied recordings and added one statement before closing the debriefing. “I will observe for the record that none of the evidence provided shows Lieutenant Reed actually saying the name or the location of the refugee camp, that is, Balgradinya.” He was looking Malcolm in the eyes as he said it.  
As a hubbub arose, nobody heard Malcolm mutter to himself confusedly. “That's not right . . . there was another one . . a hand on my face . I can't remember . . . they knew it wasn't true. . . I can't remember . . .I had to tell them,” but no one was listening. From her seat T'Pol could just see him rocking slightly, his hand fluttering at his temple.  
Now she truly understood his extraordinary tension and dread from the moment he'd heard about the recordings, and even before. They had all initially treated him as a brave officer who had resisted interrogation. But somehow, and she didn't know in the first place how, he'd actually known where this refugee camp was. But he'd also known or at least suspected that he had not been able to hold out. Then after the news of the horrific bombing he blamed himself for the massacre at the camp and was fearful of what would happen when this was known.  
How would Malcolm cope with these awful experiences. And how would Archer react now? 

Chapter 7

Archer reacted with sympathy and understanding as it turned out when he visited sickbay with Trip a few hours later, but she wasn't there to see it.  
“It's over now Malcolm. And... you mustn’t blame yourself. You were under duress and this, this tragedy, it isn't your fault. It won't go on your record. It wasn't your fault, we all know you did everything you could.”  
“Well thank you Captain. Thank you. I'm glad to hear you say it officially.” There was for the first time, a bitter edge of sarcasm in his voice. It was an expression surfing on a towering hurt-fuelled wave of anger drawing over him, but Archer didn't know that.  
“Whoa Malcolm.” Archer tried instinctively to defend himself. “I know you're upset, you have every right to be – I'm sorry I said what I did the other day. I'm really sorry I blamed you. It was wrong of me. I know you did the best you could.”  
Malcolm just shook his head wearily. “Go away,” he coldly ordered.  
“Malcolm.” Trip joined in to plead. “Please try to understand-”  
“Understand what? What do I have to understand? Just stop it. Stop it!” Reed was trembling visibly, both hands clenched tightly into fists, using the pain to give himself control. “I don't have to try, I do understand. But that doesn't just make it all vanish. So please go for now. Just go away from me!” Phlox had quickly come in behind Reed and motioned for Archer to leave.  
Malcolm took a deep breath and managed to shore up the dam for a little longer.  
“Go away,” he said, eerily matter-of-fact. “I'm very angry and upset, please just leave before I say things I'll regret.” Archer understood; the repercussions of his experiences were going nowhere, the fear and terror were leaking from their storage, the safety catch buckling. He left without another word, but full of sympathy.  
Phlox guided Reed to sit on the biobed and prepared a hypospray.  
“He says 'it's over' like a bloody favour to me! He has no idea, it's just beginning really. And it'll never be over for all the poor Poyarni who've lost people because of me will it? Maybe he should just go and tell them that 'it's over' – I'm sure they'll see sense and stop all their inconvenient grieving.” The wave of blackness he'd had to hold back for so long now rose up more strongly than ever inside him. He knew it was going to sweep him away and drown him. He felt light-headed. “All those people killed,” he spoke now so quietly Trip barely heard him. Certainly didn't hear the unspoken “I”.  
Trip watched, mouth open with bewilderment at Reed's sudden transformation from stoic quiet shadow to this angry, hurt man, so exhausted he could barely stand, with so much contained fury. Phlox said something quietly about a sedative and pressed the hypospray to Malcolm's unresisting shoulder.  
“Mal….” Trip tried again to remonstrate. Malcolm turned suddenly and reached out towards him.  
“Mal, steady on. Calm down.”  
“No Trip. Look I forgive the Captain all right, we're only human. But I'm angry because it hurt and then I've had to sit through the whole nightmare again to get it through to everyone and to justify myself! Please don't interfere because I'm not truly angry at you. But it's all coming down on me and if you can't sit down and listen to me and try to understand how I feel, then you can't stay here.”  
Not understanding any hidden meanings or questions, Trip's discomfort and a little twinge of fear, pulled him to his feet.  
“I'll...I'll come back later, when you've had a chance to rest.”  
“Yeah. You do that.”  
As he left, he didn't see the unspoken need and disappointment in Reed's blue eyes. As he left he didn't see the wall of the dam catastrophically cave in. Reed looked up hopelessly at the shape of Phlox, at the wavering walls of sickbay, through a freezing black wave that suddenly crashed down over him.  
Phlox caught him as he collapsed. 

 

Chapter 8

A burst of adrenalin darted through Phlox as a loud scream of agony echoed around his small office and his alarm relay started beeping. Hurrying out he reached the writhing figure on the biobed just as Malcolm kicked off the last of the covers and woke himself with another piercing cry. He jerked upright, moaning and doubling over immediately with his left arm pressed tightly into his body.  
He adjusted the illumination slowly just enough so he could see more clearly but did not touch his patient or otherwise move. He frowned, the sedative was making his movements unsteady but it should have kept Malcolm under for a lot longer than this. The light blue sickbay tunic had darkened with sweat and stuck to Malcolm's too-thin body, held rigid with tension. After a minute he wrenched in a new breath at last but held it. Then gradually these jerky breaths grew closer together as his need for oxygen overcame the stiffness of terror.  
Phlox leant a little closer and into the light so he could be seen. As the movement caught the corner of Reed's eye, he jolted as if to take flight, then recognition triggered. As awareness of his surroundings grew, some tension leaked from his pose and he exhaled jerkily through clenched teeth. Reaching out more slowly so as not to startle him again, Phlox draped a blanket over his shoulders. Watching the bio-readouts he saw the heart rate gradually coming down.  
As the nightmare receded his body began to shudder uncontrollably, slowly reacting to the terrible relief that he was not in burning pain. His face began to show more of the terrible distress he had been keeping at bay for days now. Anger with himself surfaced most strongly and he hit his hands hard against his thighs in hopeless rage, almost oblivious to the sharp spikes of pain in his hands.  
“Why?” he cried hoarsely, “Why couldn't I have just died instead of this? Why did I tell them? Why? Why? Why?” The searing, molten tide of frustrated anger again crested the surface and overflowed, breaking him into heavy sobs. At times his teeth clenched as his body was swept with pent up emotions.  
Although they'd not discussed it yet, he knew that Malcolm had tried to kill himself in the prison. Really tried, from Phlox's judgement of the deepest self-inflicted slashes to his right wrist. Occasionally Malcolm clutched at his wrist so hard it had to hurt. Phlox recognised the dangerous anger and knew to wait it out for now.  
Soon though, he realised Malcolm's shaking was no longer caused by emotion but the cold evaporation from his clothes and his teeth were chattering as well. Now he risked talking in a low tone, slowly telling Malcolm that he was going to touch him and where, so that he could unfasten his clothing, dry him and re-clothe him warmly again. Malcolm swayed, nodded and allowed Phlox to strip him without resistance.  
Phlox resettled him, checked his bandages, and saw warmth from the external heat began to bring some colour back to his face. Seeing that Malcolm was somehow holding awareness and still very emotional, he continued talking to his patient, hoping to start to reach him in his unguarded soporific state.  
“Malcolm you are incredibly strong. I gave you a sedative earlier that should have kept you flat out all night, but somehow you're fighting it! And I know you've been fighting very hard for a while. It's all right to have nightmares and to struggle to cope. You can depend on us for a bit of help and let go. You've been through a lot, give yourself time to adjust and get healthy and we'll help you deal with it.  
You've been in serious pain for weeks. You're still in pain now, I know you are, although you never say, and your physical reserves are really low. Right now, don't expect too much of yourself. I'm going to start you on an anti-depressant in the morning and we're going to take this step by step. The torture, debriefing, people's reactions, guilt you might be feeling, anger at yourself, there's so much to process, it's only natural to be overwhelmed right now, to feel wiped-out, like you've lost any control, or that you can't breath and you're drowning. But you're not going to be lost.”  
Malcolm felt these words wash over him and through him. There was a faint light in the distance and he kept his eyes fixed on it.  
“You're not alone any more, you're completely safe and we're going to help you. You've been really brave and you haven't done anything wrong. Nothing at all. Shhh, it's all right, it's all right.” Malcolm buried his face in his arm and his shoulders heaved. Phlox just patted his shoulder and murmured reassuringly until finally the sedative won and he sank into a state of consciousness too deep even to suffer nightmares. 

 

T'Pol, on duty, observed as first Archer, then Trip, slowly made their way in and to their stations. Both were particularly subdued and she knew they'd just come from sickbay. She was unusually impatient for the end of the shift.

 

Phlox's worried expression eased to a smile momentarily as she held out a spare blanket to him before sitting down and rolled her neck to ease the knots. She'd peeked in on the Lieutenant, to reassure herself that at least for now he was in a safe and dreamless oblivion and found this blanket pitched to the floor.  
“He kicked it off during a nightmare.” Phlox explained.  
“Will that happen again Doctor?”  
“Oh yes I would certainly imagine so. Not tonight, and I'll give him something stronger to help him sleep in the future for a while. But he'll have many more nightmares before he's fully recovered. He's in an especially bad place right now with the news of this massacre. He's taken on a heavy load of guilt and right now it's beating him into a severe depression. Fighting it will be a long process, and a tough one.  
Right now he's much more fragile and vulnerable than he's looked for the past few weeks. I think it's really valuable that he trusts you and asked for you at the debriefing. It's good to have a friend you trust at times like this, and not just from the medical staff.  
“Are you all right?”  
“Yes thank you. It is distressing to see him suffering, he doesn't deserve this. But I know that things can only get better in time. I hope that he will be able to start to talk about his feelings with someone he trusts. You saw the recording, he was helpless to prevent others being killed, crucial information that he had was exposed and thousands more died as a direct result. There's a strong element of self-hatred, no matter how irrational it may seem to expect to be able to hold out under the circumstances. When you also add chronic physical pain to this emotional load it's easy to lose perspective and the ability to function normally. As bad as it may seem, I'm absolutely amazed that he's coped this far. We're very lucky he's not in worse shape that he is.”  
He hesitated. “But T'Pol, there must have been gaps in the recordings we were given. From his injuries, behaviours and a few comments he's let slip I think other things happened which weren't part of the debriefing and which perhaps the Taskebrians deliberately omitted. For example I think you may already have guessed that not all of the injuries to his right wrist were caused by the restraints we saw, well not accidentally anyway.”  
She understood that by implication he was confirming her own surmise. At some point it had been too much or he had foreseen that he could hold out no longer, and Malcolm had tried to take his own life. On the video of his release, there was only one place where any bandage had been visible and that was where he had been forcibly prevented from bleeding to death. She could not imagine the depth of fear and desperation to which he had descended nor did she want to picture the method to which he had resorted to do so much damage. How must he have felt waking up afterwards?  
Phlox was still musing, “I even wonder if the video was deliberately edited to present Malcolm in a bad light. It might explain why he was released, if they're still trying to use him I mean. Maybe they want to make Human's look bad to discredit these negotiations, or to make it look like we've interfered in more than just a neutral way to save lives. I can only speculate about that, but I can definitely say that other methods contributed to breaking down Lt Reed's resistance which we didn't see.  
“Perhaps Commander Faulkner edited the video for the debriefing to protect Lieutenant Reed. After all, he could still include the entire footage in his confidential report.”  
Phlox shrugged wearily. “That's also a possibility.”  
“Perhaps Doctor, in the circumstances, it would be wise to leave a light on while Lt Reed is sleeping and to monitor him very closely when he is alone.”  
“Agreed.” 

 

END OF PART ONE


	2. PART TWO

PART TWO

Chapter 1 

\- Three weeks after Part One. Enterprise is still in orbit around Poyarni and negotiations have been concluded for the most part successfully. It is hoped that a diplomatic solution has been found and a period of lasting peace commenced.  
\- A message has arrived from the Poyarni temporary government inviting Lt Reed and guests to a memorial ceremony for the war with Taskebrian.  
\- Reed has not returned to duty of any kind aboard Enterprise and is still undergoing medical treatment, physical therapy and psychological counselling.

Reed and T’Pol beamed down to the surface and were greeted by a young Poyarni lady, who introduced herself as a cultural liaison. “I’m here to assist you in any way I can to make your visit as pleasant and as easy as possible. If there is anything you need, at any time, please do not hesitate to ask.” She paused, then gestured to a path leading through a nearby garden. “If you will follow me I will show you to the guest quarters.”  
They followed, walking between beautiful flower beds filled with unfamiliar insects buzzing in the warm sunshine. “The ceremony is due to begin in about fifty minutes time.” She held open the flaps of a large tent, furnished simply with wooden chairs and two sofas. Bowls of fruit and freshly cut flowers stood in vases on the tables, the pleasant coolness of the scented air and homeliness of the furniture gave a welcoming ambience.  
The liaison frowned, looking around, then turned to them. “Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind, we had hoped you would agree to wear your uniform for the ceremony? T’Pol,” she smiled as she successfully pronounced the name, “was kind enough to provide one. Would you mind?”  
Reed held her eyes quizzically for a moment, his face stony and unreadable, then he turned to the envoy , “All right.”  
“Thank you very much. I will bring some refreshments for you. Bathroom facilities are through that doorway and there are beds in the other chamber. This suite is at your disposal throughout the day and is private for you. Please let me know at any time if you need anything at all.”  
“One question.” Reed spoke. “How far are we from ceremony venue and how are we getting there?”  
“Oh it’s no distance at all. Just a short walk further down the path, on the other side of the trees, there is a natural grass arena. I understand that you are still recovering from injuries and we have tried to arrange the day to make it as easy as possible for you. After the ceremony there will be food and an informal gathering a little further to our right. At any time you can retire here if you need to.” She smiled, gave a short bow and left.  
Reed sighed and stood for a moment. T’Pol explored the other chamber while he changed into the Starfleet uniform that lay neatly folded on a side table. T’Pol turned suddenly when she heard a gasp followed by Reed’s dry voice. “It’s okay. Please. You can come in.”  
“Oh I’m so terribly sorry, how unforgivable. I should have warned you, I do apologise.” The liaison had returned. Her eyes were now riveted to the tray of drinks she carried. Reed was wearing his uniform trousers and was in the process of putting on his white shirt. The scars on his arms and body were plain to see in the bright sunlight. “No, no, I could have gone into the other room.”  
If T'Pol expressed emotion, she would have been feeling sadness. Phlox could easily have healed all these marks instantly but Reed had categorically refused, even though he knew and had discussed with Phlox that he had no logical reason to feel guilty but this symptom of self-punishment reminded her that all was not well with his mind yet.  
“Please come in, it’s fine.” he repeated. Calmly he continued dressing, methodically straightening his shirt cuffs.  
“I will guide you to your seats when you are ready. I’m told that nearly all the guests are seated now.” She paused. “So that you know, there are about 3,000 people at this ceremony and it is filmed for broadcast live and later repeats.”  
Malcolm contained his shock but repeated quietly, “3,000…” He swallowed nervously and took a few sips of water the envoy held out to him.  
“The Sub-Commander and I will be nearby at all times and the speaker, Praetor Johannes is very good and very kind. There’s nothing to worry about, it’s a unique occasion, many people wanted to be here.  
“That’s a lot of people.” T'Pol watched as he exhaled and made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders which had tensed.  
“Shall we go then?” He lifted his chin determinedly, but she knew him well enough to know that this was just the best mask he could put on his apprehension. He was pale but outwardly looked composed enough. No one could guess that at three in the morning he had woken from a nightmare that left him soaked in sweat and trembling. He'd refused to talk about it but had been unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

 

Half an hour later, they strolled into the warming sunshine and followed the liaison in her smart red uniform. Turning at an avenue of trees they were directly at the central aisle between thousands of Poyarni seated in rows in front of a raised stage on which sat around thirty dignitaries.  
As they walked to the seats reserved for them at the front of the audience Malcolm noticed the cameras and microphones discreetly placed to record events. There were flowers on the stage and displays amongst the trees and audience giving the effect of a large hall.  
As they were seated, the susurration of thousands of conversations around them began to diminish as the equerry mounted the stage steps. She spoke to a young man wearing a v-shaped chain, an emblem of office Malcolm guessed. The man glanced in their direction and nodded, as if in greeting. He rose and walked forward to a small table set with chairs on the stage as their liaison returned to her seat beside them.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Silence fell.  
“Welcome one and all to our ceremony of honour and of remembrance. It was on this day three years ago that the hostilities between our nation and Taskebrian were launched and since then we have gathered together in families and in communities, in private and in public ceremonies to mark the the following events and their consequences.  
Today’s ceremony will in some ways be identical to those before, but we also have some unique events to share and to incorporate into our wartime history. I am honoured that so many of you have journeyed here to be with us today at this special event. I know for all of us, today will be a difficult and emotional day, and as ever, we start by spending a few moments on our present. We thank those who have given their lives, worked for each other and the good of our fellow countrymen and to all who have resisted evil temptations. Thanks be to all. As ever, we remind ourselves at this time that we depend upon each other. Our decisions and our actions today create our future. Let us continue to stand together and support one another and be grateful for what we have.”  
He bowed his head. “Thanks be to all,” was repeated by a thousand low voices.

 

The next half hour was taken up with a short history of the Poyarn-Taskebrian conflict, the background disagreements, diplomatic and military milestones leading up to the present peace.  
Then an awards section began after a beautiful hymn sung by a young choir in sombre grey and black robes, which left many around him tearful. On the stage too he saw many people wiping their eyes. The song must have had a particular significance, he asked the liaison, as a group of eight people were led and seated at the stage.  
“Yes, it is a traditional song; a lament for friends no longer with us, and the hard times that life gives us. It is almost an unofficial national anthem.”  
“It’s very beautiful.”  
“Well I’m glad that its sound translates to a different culture. I should very much like to hear some of your music one day. Music has strong meanings to my culture.”  
The Premier was seated at the stage table now, while his deputy, Malcolm assumed, read out some stories of individual bravery from the past year and the new figures on the stage were honoured.  
Some awards were clearly being presented to some who had died, and on stage a member of their family rose and collected the award. He noticed that there were still vacant seats on the stage. He shifted his position a little to ease the strain from sitting immobile.  
“Are you comfortable Lieutenant?” the envoy enquired solicitously.  
“Yes, I'm fine. I took some painkillers just before we left, I just need to move a little every so often, so as not to get too stiff.”  
The choir returned with a few musicians on haunting instruments. This song was more rousing and full of defiance. Some of the audience were singing as well. Finally the last note died away and this time the Praetor rose again.  
“Friends, thank you once again for coming together today to remember those passed and honour those present.  
I believe the news has spread, judging by the unusual number of people we are accommodating here, that you all know that our final two awards are very special. Please open your hearts and listen to our final extraordinary story. First though, I would like to invite a special guest to join me here. Please would Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, currently a serving security officer on the Starship Enterprise, come up onto the stage.” Against the background of excited whispers, he gracefully extended an arm towards the Human, in Starfleet uniform in the front row of guests.

Startled, Malcolm felt a jolt of adrenalin. Although he had expected his name to be called in public at some point he still had to make himself breathe deliberately slowly and deeply to calm this attack of anxiety. A glance at T’Pol who was on the edge of her seat waiting for him to stand, told him that this was no surprise to her. He must still have looked apprehensive because as he stood she whispered, “Trust me. It is fine Lieutenant.”  
“Is it though?” he muttered to himself under his breath.  
The envoy was also standing and, to a background of agitated whispers, they began what felt like a mile long walk to the stage. T’Pol and the envoy subtly melted into the background after adroitly steering him to the Praetor.  
The young man immediately reached out his hand and smiled warmly as he greeted Malcolm. “Thank you very much for coming, Lieutenant. I know that you don’t yet know why you are here, but all will become clear and we are very glad to welcome you. Please take a seat.” He invited Malcolm to take the chair beside him at the table. A glass of water had already been poured for him. On the table as well he noticed two small polished wooden boxes. He clenched his hands together and swallowed tightly.  
The Praetor continued. “As I said, Lieutenant Reed kindly agreed to visit us but under a slight deception for which I humbly do apologise. We informed him that this was a memorial service only and that as he had been to our planet once before he might be most suitable to represent Starfleet at this occasion. I think our deception was not entirely unsuspected,” he said with a slight wry smile in Malcolm’s direction.  
Ladies and gentlemen, our final awards to be presented today are our nation’s highest.” He paused as an excited murmur rippled through the crowd.  
“The Order of the White Star has been awarded only 17 times to date. It is awarded to a citizen who is proven to have demonstrated extraordinary courage and selflessness for our homeland.  
The Order of the Plume de Grisson has been awarded only twice before. It is our highest award for bravery and heroism for someone who has performed an extraordinary act of courage for our nation, but who is not of the Poyarni race.  
This award I personally hold to be especially significant; recognising as it does, acts of bravery performed for the good of our people by those who are not of our species, who may have never even set foot on our planet or even met a single one of us, but who are nonetheless prepared to make supreme sacrifices for the sake of other living beings.  
Now ladies and gentlemen, for proven acts of bravery after due consideration and examination, the Council recommend for the Order of the White Star; Maria Raischio and for the Order of the Plume de Grisson; Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.”

 

Chapter 2

The Praetor sat down while the crowd chattered excitedly and placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “I know this must be a huge shock to you, please forgive me but it is not a mistake. I have many things to explain to you.”  
Despite the gentle Poyarni minister's sincere words and gestures of reassurance. Malcolm could produce no words and simply clutched the table's edge while trying to control his shock. In the corner of his eye he saw the dais being removed and a microphone being switched on and adjusted on their table. The Praetor released his shoulder, but gripped his arm reassuringly as he spoke to the crowd.  
“As you all know Maria is no longer with us.” An aide unveiled a black and white picture of a striking woman with a lined face, maybe in her fifties with long grey hair, dark eyebrows and a steady, direct gaze. In front of it he lit a candle surrounded by white flowers.  
“But someone who met her is here with me now, and I hope he can tell us something to begin our story, Human Lieutenant Malcolm Reed from the United Federation of Planets' Starship Enterprise.”  
He looked at Malcolm, “Lieutenant I know this is a huge shock to you and you cannot understand yet the meaning of it all. Again please forgive me. I know you are not in full health and we will try not to tire you too much, but it is important to us and we are so grateful to have you here and to be able to talk to you directly. You knew Maria didn't you?”  
“Yes.” Malcolm hesitated, the Praetor encouraged him with a nod. “Tell us about her, your memories, your impressions, please?”  
“I didn’t know her well.” Malcolm almost protested. “I met her when I was here about four years ago. I had volunteered to do some building and community project work here while I was on leave during my Starfleet Security Academy training. This was before the war started.”  
“Go on,” the Praetor urged.  
“I spent about three months working on different projects with an organisation she founded here. We rebuilt a theatre, cleared some community gardens, repainted a school, that kind of thing. Maria was very energetic, very creative. I think she had a good career as an actress and playwright here?”  
“That’s right. She was very famous in her younger days.”  
Malcolm managed a smile and unconsciously relaxed a fraction. “Typical. She never really said a word about it directly, she was very modest, but she did have some very entertaining stories. On our days off, she would give up her free time to take us around Poyarn. To places of natural beauty, museums, sightseeing and bars! I was very lucky to meet her, she was a wonderful woman. I kept in touch with her for quite a few years until the war started.”  
“Indeed. I know it is not a shock to you to hear that she is no longer with us. However, how she died had, until very recently, left us with controversy and doubt about her true ideals. Maria Raischio was killed just over two weeks ago. Since her death, rumours have circulated and it has been claimed there is evidence that she was executed by a retribution squad of former resistance members after allegedly being uncovered as a collaborator.”  
The Praetor was speaking directly and intently to Malcolm, as if 3,000 people weren't also hanging on every word.  
“We now have irrefutable evidence that she was no such collaborator. We have evidence that she was killed, executed to be precise, by the Taskebrians. She was shot when they discovered that she was in fact, a double agent, working almost alone, on her own initiative, to save thousands of lives at Balgradinya by a miraculous act. Lieutenant?” he paused with concern, the officer was looking bewildered and breathing faster, his hairline dampening with sweat.  
“Malcolm, please do not be frightened, you are among friends here. All will become clear. Let me tell you what you do not know, then we will come to your part of the story. You carry a news clipping with you? You have carried it, I’m told for the past month since you were in hospital and then convalescing, no? Would you show it to me please?”  
Malcolm reluctantly and shakily extracted a much-folded flimsy from his inner jacket pocket. In the rapt silence as it was handed over and unfolded, the only sound that carried to him over the rustling of the paper was his own tense breathing, harsh in his own ears . The Praetor noticed his guest's knuckles whiten as his hands laced together.  
It was the flimsy Archer had thrown at him in sickbay. He knew this was the moment when his life would unravel. The moment they would realise, now, the true guilt of what he had done. It took him a moment to realise that the Praetor, via his aide and a projector, was displaying the clipping to the crowd and had spoken his name gently twice to get his attention.  
The Praetor felt his heart wrench as the rigid officer sitting beside him swallowed and slowly raised his wide fear-filled eyes. He spoke again, clearly, sincerely.  
“This story is a lie.” This time he saw blank incomprehension on the pale Human face. “We, the government, I, fabricated the story . We made it up to protect the survivors for as long as possible as they evacuated the camp. It. Is. A. Lie.”

 

Chapter 3

“This story is false. It is fiction.” he repeated. The crowd heard, amplified, Malcolm’s halting intake of breath. “I don’t understand,” he gasped quietly, “I saw other reports . . I” He stopped, too frightened to speak the thoughts that consumed him, what he had done.  
“Malcolm, you did not do anything wrong. I know you carry this because you believe it is true and that you bear the guilt for it. You carry it because you believe that you revealed the existence of the refugee camp to the Taskebrians so that they massacred every inhabitant, isn’t that true?”  
A single violent tremor went through him to clench in Malcolm's chest. “Yes.” He choked out.  
The Praetor shook his head and shifted his chair to sit even closer. He gripped Malcolm’s shoulders and made him look up and meet his eyes.  
“Malcolm, please, you must believe me. It is not true. The Balgradinya massacre did not take place. It cannot have happened because everybody here today was there; 3,000 here and all the rest, I'm completely sure, are glued to their monitors right now. Malcolm, trust me, believe me, no one died at Balgradinya. Not one single refugee.”  
The Praetor continued to speak but it was a distant sound as Malcolm tried to somehow take in this information. Open-mouthed in shock he looked out at the crowd, some of whom were now standing, all staring at him. He felt tears start down his cheeks that he couldn’t stem, churning emotions that he couldn't name.  
The Praetor turned back to Malcolm and realised he was going to have to repeat himself as the dazed Lieutenant hadn’t heard a word.  
“Lieutenant, I know this is really difficult for you, I know that you’re not well. Please, please bear with me just a little bit longer. One last contribution from you please I beg and I will finish telling the story as quickly as possible. Please can you tell me if you recognise this man?” He turned over a photograph on the table in front of them.  
Instantly Malcolm flinched away, teeth clenched on a involuntary moan, before he could check his reaction. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the Praetor groaned. He beckoned T’Pol forward, whispered with her and their liaison. “We’ll stop for now and perhaps continue another day in more private surroundings. I’m so sorry, it's too soon, I didn’t realise how stressful this would be, I really thought it could only help.”  
Overhearing them making plans to abandon the event helped Malcolm to focus on his surroundings again. “No.” He managed. “No.” He repeated more strongly as they turned to him. “I'm all right. I’ll be all right. I need to know what the hell is going on anyway.”  
“Are you sure?”  
He took a very deep breath, brushed his eyes and blinked a few times rapidly. “Yes. Let’s finish this event properly. These people can’t go with half a story and neither can I. I need to know what you're talking about.”  
“Very good.” He nodded with respectful admiration to Malcolm. My friends,” he addressed the assembly, “your attention please. We will take a 15 minute break now, thank you.”  
He spoke to an aide while T’Pol came to sit by Lieutenant Reed who was calming down and getting to grips with things. Some cereal bars were brought in along with a decanter of the fruit syrup they had tasted in the waiting room.  
T’Pol asked if he were angry with her. He shook his head thoughtfully. “No. How can I be angry, if this is the truth, maybe I’ll feel better for it. Maybe. . .maybe it’s not what I thought.” He was amazed to see that the entire ceremony had only taken an hour so far. “They split it into a morning and afternoon session this year so that you wouldn’t be here any longer than necessary.”

 

The Praetor called the audience back to their seats.  
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I know this is emotional and traumatic for all of us who are dealing with such recent events. One event which was reported to us all very recently was the death of this Taskebrian, who’s picture I unfortunately sprang on Lieutenant Reed without any warning.”  
His tone hardened for a moment with pain. “The Lieutenant is acquainted all too well with this man. What you may not know is his name; Keinrich Memenskat. He was the Taskebrian's best interrogator. He is also personally responsible for the deaths of at least 300 people that we know of, during the war. But despite this few survive who have ever seen his face.”  
He paused for a moment to let this sink in. “Malcolm, this man interrogated you, did he not?” T'Pol focused on Malcolm with concerned interest. This Taskebrian had never been seen in the video of the interrogations shown at the debriefing and the armoury officer had never mentioned him. Yet he was clearly very significant.  
“Yes,” Malcolm breathed.  
“Lieutenant Reed, who serves aboard the Starship Enterprise, was captured over a month ago by the Taskebrians. Lieutenant Reed was abused and tortured by the Taskebrians, and finally by this man. Lieutenant if you can, tell us please, what they wanted from you and what Memenskat did?”  
With a huge effort Malcolm forced himself to sit upright and raised his head to look out at the crowd. Despite a seeming turn in events he still felt crushed by the weight of what he would say and fought to keep some composure. He spoke slowly, each fragile word rose from a pressured depth , passed on gently and carefully.  
“They questioned me about the refugees, where they would be taken. They named places, I knew some of them, not all. The one I really recognised was Balgradinya, they knew from my record that I’d been there before the war. I didn’t understand where they meant until suddenly I remembered this abandoned town settlement. Buildings, fields and wells disused for years. Maria and I had visited one day and I knew that it must be where the refugees were.  
I . . . I tried to hide it. This knowledge, the sudden certainty. I tried everything I could to-. . . But he- . . . He just took it. I couldn’t hold him out. He just had to touch me and he was inside my mind. He knew everything I knew, everything I felt. He knew just how to hurt me and . . .and . . .” he stared out unseeing at the crowd suddenly running dry of all words but two. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  
A murmur started in the crowd, many of the women and some of the men were crying. The Praetor continued immediately, but making no effort to hide the awe and hero worship he felt for this broken man.  
“So you still came here believing that you had revealed under torture, where the camp was, and that this news clipping was true? That the whole camp had been slaughtered. You came here because you felt you were guilty and maybe you though this was a different kind of ruse and even expected us to arrest you . . or worse.” The Praetor’s voice was full of sympathy and that broke Malcolm completely. His shoulders began to shake as more of the unbearable guilt and fear he had been living with poured out of him in near silent sobs.  
The Praetor was not taken by surprise, he leant forwards and embraced Malcolm who wasn’t aware of himself until some long moments later. The Praetor moved his arms from around him but gripped his shoulders instead and continued.  
“Keinrich Memenskat killed 300 people at least. He never failed to extract the information he wanted in an interrogation. Not ever. Because he wasn't a Taskebrion. We don't know what species he is, but he had the gift of telepathy. That’s why he was the Taskebrian's best interrogator. That's why he never failed. You couldn't have resisted him Malcolm. You just could not. In fact you’re the only person to have even survived interrogation by Keinrich and lived to tell the tale. The only person Lieutenant. Even if all the refugees at the camp had died, it still would not have been your fault Malcolm, I hope you know that.” He paused to let this sink in.  
“In fact, though, you didn’t just survive, you turned his skill against him. We are here to award you this medal.” He opened one of the wooden boxes, displaying a polished, gleaming, medal in the shape of an iridescent feather on a bright blue ribbon. “Because you did resist. You tried a new tactic. Something I don't think anyone ever thought of or had the strength of mind to try before. You gave everything you had to believe a lie so strongly that he believed it too and it gave the camp a chance, the only chance, to survive. Please. Can you tell us what happened?”  
Malcolm frowned and took several shaky breaths.  
“I. . . I didn't know what to do, how to get out of the situation,. .all I could think of . . . well I just completely gambled that Maria was still alive. And that someone of her energy and ideals would be giving her all for the Poyarn people.  
But I chose to believe in my mind, that I hated Maria. That I detested her, even that I wanted her to die. I tried to believe as hard as I could that she was pure evil; a collaborator with the Taskebrians and as a traitor already, she would be their easiest way to this camp. I knew I couldn't hide that Balgradinya was the place for any time at all, but I hoped that they would somehow contact her, use her. Tell her their plans and somehow she could maybe do something to sabotage them. I put it all on her, if they believed me, which, until today,” he said slowly, “I didn’t even think worked.”  
“Oh it worked alright Lieutenant. You convinced Memenskat completely. So, Lieutenant Reed’s amazing courage and inventiveness despite torture, pain, fear and violation that we can really not imagine, led the Taskebrians to Maria Raischio. And she played the greatest acting role of her career. She was one of the camp organisers, but she responded to her cue, immediately took their lead and switched roles, playing the collaborator so convincingly that her own countrymen began to turn against her. She sacrificed her reputation in an incredible act of bravery. She risked her life and saved thousands of lives.  
Maria was shot by the Taskebrians because she chose to remain behind after the emergency camp evacuation that she organised practically overnight, to gather more intelligence to help protect those who were fleeing. The Taskebrians though, no longer trusted her, and they shot her as a traitor, or as we now know her, a selfless patriot.  
There are details and evidence for all of these events that will be related in more depth in the full citations etcetera, but I think we have said enough for now. Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding.” The crowd rose to its feet.  
“The family of Maria Raischio are here today, please would her sister Tamarla come forward. On behalf of a grateful nation, we award the Order of the White Star to Maria Raischio. On behalf of a grateful nation, we award the Order of the Plume de Grisson to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.” Malcolm rose stiffly and was shaken warmly by the hand and embraced tightly for a long moment as the crowd cheered.

 

Chapter 4

T’Pol saw Lieutenant Reed take some deep breaths as applause roared over them. A couple of times he needed to wipe his eyes with the back of a trembling hand.  
The Praetor had not expected him to respond and gave a pleased nod and smile as Lieutenant Reed indicated that he would speak to the crowd. He looked down at the polished white box clutched tightly in his hand while the applause rolled, diminished and finally stopped. In the silence that followed the microphone amplified a shaking breath as Malcolm finally lifted his head, at some effort, to meet the eyes of the assembly. He surveyed the sincere, grateful faces of the crowd, picking out children holding tightly to their parent or, if luckier, parents.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. This is a great honour. It means a very great deal to me, everything that the Praetor has related. I was,” he paused before continuing with complete honesty, “terrified, to come here and face you all. I did feel, I. . I knew, until today, that I was responsible for all the people, the families killed in the horrific attack on Balgradinya that I saw pictures of and was told about .” T'Pol realised that it was the first time she had heard him say the name, his pronunciation was flawless.  
“It’s going to take some time for that to fade, to stop feeling like I should have done something more, found a different way out.” He met the audience’s gaze. “But I feel now, that perhaps that weight isn't as heavy as it was earlier. And seeing so many living souls here today, I feel stronger too. I know that we all have to go on. That living well and with hope is what Maria would have wanted. I thank you very, very much for this honour. And I’m very, deeply, sorry for your losses in this war.”  
Spontaneous applause bloomed over the field, the people stood. As the Praetor shook Malcolm's hand again and embraced him warmly, they were all on their feet.

 

After a few minutes the Praetor allowed everyone to fall quiet and be seated again.  
“The timing of this ceremony is well fallen. As we all know the Taskebrians release visual and audio recordings of the torture of their prisoners each month. Although the war is officially over, I would fully expect that some die-hards will find a way to perpetuate this despicable propaganda. They did this to distress friends and relatives and to dissuade others from resistance. Tomorrow we expect Lt Reed’s experiences may well be broadcast, so I am very pleased that he felt able to be here. I know that today has been especially tiring for you and you are still convalescing. I would take it as a great honour if you felt able to stay on Poyarn for a few days more. So many people want to meet you and thank you in person. Please consider it.  
That’s all ladies and gentlemen. We thank you all. Please honour Maria Raischio and Malcolm Reed; heroes of Poyarn.” The applause was deafening. 

 

Malcolm was not expected to attend the lunch that directly followed. The Praetor had already made it clear to all the assembled guests that he needed to rest, but came to their tent to personally say to T'Pol that he hoped Malcolm would be able to join a much smaller dinner group that evening.  
The Praetor paused in the middle of his goodbyes. Phlox and T’Pol exchanged glances as the sound of cathartic sobs reached them from the other room in the guest quarters.  
“I hope he will make a full recovery. Please count on our good wishes and do please call if there is any way in which we may be of service to Lieutenant Reed.”  
“Thank you Praetor, and thank you all for your sensitivity in the arrangements for our visit. I believe coming here to Poyarn has already begun to help Malcolm to forgive himself and to accept that he’s blameless and that he did more than anyone could have even thought possible to save lives. Thank you.”

 

Obviously emotionally drained after the events of the ceremony Malcolm had not had to make any issue of a need for rest and privacy. Gratefully Malcolm closed the door of the warm, private bedroom in their guest quarters. Phlox had given him painkillers which he’d swallowed along with a few mouthfuls of food which had been all he could manage.  
Finally alone, he took out the simple white wooden box Johannes had handed him. Opening it, the polished metal feather seemed to float on its broad blue ribbon. Suddenly its hopeful radiance blinded him, the sunlight reflected from the brilliant faceted surface fractured into more rainbows by sudden tears in his eyes.

 

END OF PART TWO & STORY


End file.
